Welcome to Hogwarts
by camhasissues
Summary: A new Hufflepuff joins the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and is forced to realize that he may very well not continue his mothers legacy, but there's nothing stopping him from starting his own. (This is my first fic, and I'm really sorry if it absolutely blows.)


These characters and places belong to J.K. Rowling. For without whom, I wouldn't have made it this far.

I've always liked people. I don't know if it's their voices, their smiles, laughs, the little quirks with how they play with their hair or pick at their chin or tap their fingers on tables. It's not even that I like being around people. I wasn't used to it. I didn't have many people growing up. I grew up lonely in the Scottish countryside, in a small shack with my mother and my sister, who is 9 years my junior. I had few friends growing up; the closest was a little boy, a year younger than me, who lived about 5 miles through heavy woods and desolate fields. And that was only on the days I could see. Most of the time, it was too foggy or rainy to have half an idea as to where in the good name of Merlin I was going.

My mother always raised me with the most just morals she could. I took what I wanted from it, and eventually, I decided that the only thing I cared about were others. Or at least, the ones who treated myself, the ones I love and in all honesty, everyone in general with respect. Loyalty. That's what really matters to me.

My clearest memory of him was on a cloudy day in early September. He and I were running through the forest, as most children do. It was routine for us to get lost for hours upon hours, and not return to either of each other's homes until the late hours, and eventually leading to one of us staying over at the other's home, mostly because the walk was too much to expect from a 9 year old late at night.

But on one afternoon, as we were exploring the part of the forest that we had grown up playing in, we met another boy, a dark haired boy, hair that grew straight down to his shoulders. His eyebrows were dark and angry, and his eyes were a pale green. He had sharp and definitive features, with hollow cheeks, looking almost malnourished.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" He demanded. "And why are you in my woods?"

His woods? I'd never seen him before. And this forest had been my stomping ground for the first 9 years of my life

"Are you dim, or are you just deaf?" His tone cut like a knife. I was afraid that if he spoke too harshly, I might start to bleed.

"W-who are you" Stammered out my friend.

"Are you pretending you don't know who I am, you worthless little muggle? I practically own you! Don't you dare open your mouth to me again or I'll cut your tongue out!" His anger escalated quickly.

But no one spoke to my friend like that.

"Shut your mouth!" The words practically burst from my mouth.

"Or what? Are you going to hit me?" The boy walked closer, close enough for me to feel him breathe on my face. We came to about the same height, and I was definitely tall for a 9 year old.

I scowled "Great idea"

I had never hit someone before. Never like this at least. I couldn't tell if it was my hand or his jaw breaking upon impact. Oh wait, yes I could. It was my hand. The boy hit the ground hard, but apparently not hard enough because he pushed himself up and tackled me to the ground, pinning himself on top of me.

"How dare you touch me!?" I could feel the spit hit my face, as he wrestled my arms to the ground. Before the boy got much of a chance, my friend barreled out of nowhere and smacked a branch clear into the boys head. The boy stood again and drew a slim, straight, white wand out of the pocket of his jeans. It seemed to be made of bone, or petrified wood, and looked too brittle to be walking around with in your pocket. Yet he managed it.

He flicked his wand and uttered words "Wingardium Leviosa" My friend began to lift of the ground, feet first. He grasped at the ground desperately for anything to hold on to, but nothing held. After the initial shock, my friend began to panic. He'd never seen magic before. I, on the other hand was no stranger to it, and knew one simple rule. A spell can't be kept if concentration is broken, and I had to move quickly, before he was too high to save. I pushed the dark haired boy back while my friend was only about a meter above the ground.

I wrestled with him on the ground again and pulled his wand from his grasp. I shoved him off of me and pointed his wand at him while he sat on the ground and I pulled myself to my feet

"Stupid kid!" he spat. "You don't know half of what you're doing."

"Pertrificus Totalus" I snapped, and held the boy in place. I had never used a spell before. I had taken the time to read about them, and learn what I could, I had just never had a wand to practice with, and my mother had forbidden me from using hers.

I threw the boys wand onto the ground and ran off with my friend, who had a nasty limp, and couldn't stand on his own. So I threw him up on my back and ran as quickly as I could, back to my little hovel. I pushed through the door and belted for my mother, who rounded the corner, wearing her usual attire of dirty sewn clothes and her glasses on the bridge of her nose

"Quick mum, he's hurt!" I pleaded. I Placed him down gently on the couch

Her face went from caring to concerned as she ran to the kitchen. She returned a few moments later with a bottle of a semi-clear brown liquid.

"Open his mouth." She requested. I complied as she poured an evidently foul smelling drink down my friend's throat. He tried to spit it up, but I kept his mouth closed. He struggled for a minute before giving in and passing out almost instantaneously

"What happened?" She questioned. Never angrily, but with just enough authority. I swallowed

"There was a boy-" I started

"What boy?"

"I don't know. He was tall, and had dark hair."

"How did he get hurt?" she said. She was standing now, and strictly pointing towards my friend.

"The boy used magic… He lifted him up and-" She cut me off before I could finish

"Where? How did you get away?" The questions were coming faster than my mind was prepared to answer. This was always the case with my mother.

"In the woods!" I was almost startled. "I stunned him. He couldn't move, so I picked him up, and we ran."

"How did you stun him?"

"…magic" I said meekly. Her eyes grew wide. I was expecting a storm of anger and aggression. And of course more questions. But instead she just kneeled down and put her hand on my shoulder.

"I'm not going to ask anymore." She cooed. "I can tell it's worrying you" She was right, I was shaking, but I had been so concerned about my friend that I hadn't bothered to notice.

"But I'm very proud of you. You kept him safe. You stood up for yourself. I taught you well. You've made me a proud mum today."

That was 2 years ago today. On the first of September.

After those events, it naturally made sense I would be sorted into Hufflepuff on my first year. My mother had attended Hogwarts as a child, and while the hat acknowledged her kindness, nothing quite beat out her sheer wit, and her lust for knowledge and the (sometimes) terrifying amount of logic she prided herself on. She landed herself a nice cozy spot in Ravenclaw, the house that would one day lead her to success and her own little sense of glory. She eventually became a prefect and then Head Girl.

Logan (that being her name) left quite a legacy at Hogwarts.; a stream of troublemaking, with her own brand of herbology based mischief, finding it painfully entertaining to release an outbreak of Devil's Snare unto the Slytherin house. She of course followed that up with stellar grades, and finally a personality to burn through parchment. The kind of smile that no matter the crime, for some dastardly reason, she was always forgiven. Going in as an innocent first year, I had shoes to fill, and I honestly don't think they were quite my size. It also didn't help that I was shaking so hard, I probably wouldn't have been able to calm myself enough to get the shoes on.

I remember the snickers in the great hall as my name was called up to the sorting hat. I stood in the group of first years, all of us crowded and nervous. I remember the little blonde girl who stood petrified in her robes that were at least 3 sizes too big, and I remember the chubby boy with the big mole on his nose that kept twiddling his thumbs, with a combined vigor of nerves and excitement. I remember the slow in time as each name was called. Everyone giddy and petrified all at once. Then my name was read aloud.

"Ridley Raven" chimed Professor McGonagall.

Then of course, the unanimous chuckle. I've never been sure as to whether it was the alliteration, the irony of the name and the Ravenclaw house, or just the stories of my mother, which had become the golden standard for comedy at Hogwarts. I walked up the short tier of steps, and sat myself down on the stool while the Professor settled the sorting hat atop my head. I felt it spring to life and adjust on my scruffy blond hair, then, it began to speak.

"Well, well, well" it began in its gruff little voice "I remember a head quite like this…"

Leave it to my mother to leave an impression on even a hat. It had been 20 years since she'd attended school here, yet it still knew the all too familiar taste of her wit and charm. Two things that have always been clear I lacked

"Lack? No, not quite" the hat mused.

I jumped. It hadn't occurred to me that the hat was reading my mind. Though it should've been painfully clear.

"You and your mother are far more similar than you believe" he said, almost with sympathy. Almost. "The wit is all there… and the charm. But the knack for trouble? I don't think you have it in you… just like she doesn't have the heart you possess boy… I don't think many do. That makes it easy I suppose. "

Then I could feel it. I was about to ruin my mother's legacy. Everything built up for the first 11 years of my life. The stories, the expectations, every time I had asked my mother about her infamous shenanigans , I was always greeted with a familiar "When you're in Ravenclaw…" and I believed it… but the second the hat said it, it was all too clear where I was headed.

"HUFFLEPUFF" the hat exclaimed…

My heart broke. Ravenclaw, I was supposed to be in Ravenclaw. I was supposed to continue the legacy. The pranks, the trouble, the charm, the schooling. All of that had to happen in Ravenclaw, where my mother had gone. I was still in shock as Professor McGonagall lifted the hat from my head and ushered me off to the Hufflepuff table and called up the next student.


End file.
